The Road Goes Ever On: Part One The Fellowship
by Annex-Writer
Summary: A different take on the Lord of the Rings trilogy. Slash and het pairings. Sam/Frodo, Merry/Pip, Aragorn/Eowyn as the main pairings. This is the first part told from the beginning. Please read and review. No flaming.


**Disclaimer: **Only the original characters and storylines are mine. The rest is property of the great J.R.R. Tolkien

**The Road Goes Ever On**

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Part I - The Fellowship

_Roads go ever ever on,  
Over rock and under tree,  
By caves where never sun has shone,  
By streams that never find the sea;  
Over snow by winter sown,  
And through the merry flowers of June,  
Over grass and over stone,  
And under mountains of the moon. _

_- J.R.R. Tolkien _The Road Goes Ever On

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Prologue - Shadows of the Past

_'Three Rings for the Elven-kings under the sky,  
Seven for the Dwarf-lords in their halls of stone,  
Nine for Mortal Men doomed to die,  
One for the Dark Lord on his dark throne  
In the Land of Mordor where the Shadows lie.'_

- the Prophecy of the Lord of the Rings

* * *

_S.A. 3441_

It was during the end of the Second Age that Sauron fell.

This chain of events was started by the forging of the Rings of Power – forged so each race could be governed: of Elves, Dwarves and Men.

They were gifts from Sauron, secretly Morgoth's servant, who requested the Noldorin smiths craft them under his beautiful (and deceptive) guise.

Yet his intentions and identity were revealed ten years later when he forged his own ring – the One Ring. In this ring he poured all of his powers as a Maiar of Aulë and his malicious will to rule over the peoples of Middle Earth.

It was Celebrimbor who exposed Sauron in enough time to allow the Elves to escape his trap. The Dwarves could not be tamed through the rings and thus hid deep in their halls under the mountains.

But Men fell into Darkness and became servants to the Dark Lord – the Nazgûl.

Those men who were still noble and good joined forces with the Elves in the Last Alliance against Sauron's armies, rising together to defeat him once and for all.

On the slopes of Mount Doom, more than Orcs were slain: Elendil, the High King of Arnor and Gondor, and Gil-galad, the last High King of the Noldor, were killed by Sauron.

Elendil's head was crushed and his body broken. Gil-galad was burned alive by Sauron's fire. Their forces overcame the Dark Lord if but for the courage and grief of Elendil's eldest son Isildur.

He took up his father's sword, Narsil, and sliced the Dark Lord's fingers right off…and the One with them.

Sauron was defeated. Victory was theirs.

Yet the courage of Men – the goodness of Men – failed.

Despite all of the lives destroyed for the opportunity to vanquish the Ring, Isildur succumbed to its seductions and betrayed all.

Betrayed his people.

Betrayed his fellow soldiers.

Betrayed his father's memory.

And he betrayed his lover...Elrond the Half-Elven.

Who, unknowingly to any other living, was bearing his child.

Elrond had returned to Imladris (known to others as "Rivendell") after the Last Alliance had departed and after Isildur's betrayal.

He had gone back to his kingdoms and ruled with the Ring around his neck. Living with his wife and trying to produce an heir, he was only betraying Elrond further. Made even worse by the fact he never acknowledged the Elves now that he was king.

Elrond had inherited Gil-galad's ring, Vilya, the greatest of the Elvish rings.

And he carried Isildur's true, first heir.

Elrond cursed his ability to bear children. He cursed his promise to Gil-galad that he wouldn't tell Isildur. He cursed Isildur and the loathsome creature growing inside of him.

But most of all he cursed his foolishness.

How – after thousands of years – could he have been so naïve?

He often sat under the trees in the gardens, by himself, thinking over everything he had done wrong that led to this…To him carrying a child he hated and refused to touch as his stomach slowly grew to accommodate it and how Isildur would soon bring to ruin all that his noble ancestors had given so much to create.

He had foolishly compared their pairing to that of Beren and Lúthien, his ancestors.

Why – how could he have been so incompetent?! After all his long years he had allowed a youngling to have him in a way no Elf ever had…Why?

Elrond knew the answer deep inside of him: there was an inherent goodness inside Isildur and a courage that had made him believe that there was still hope in Men. He had loved the idealistic thought of Man, an infatuation with Isildur seemed to hold the most truth…

If it ever was "love," it was one-sided.

Isildur had married a mortal woman and never looked back at Elrond…on what they once had, on what they once shared…Making the wound all the more incapable to bear.

That was what Gil-galad had warned him against…"_There is a great difference between_ _"love" and "infatuation" ,_ _mellon nin._"

He went on to say that such a match as Beren and Lúthien rarely worked – a love to cross boundaries of race and class had to be strong and true from both sides.

Theirs wasn't – not strong nor true…His had been nothing but lustful and delusional from the outset, Elrond concluded bitterly.

In the end – against Elrond's emotional, illogical judgment – Gil-galad had made Elrond swear to not tell Isildur about the child, even if he lay dying on the battlefield…

The Elven King had confided in his younger charge that he felt uneasy about the outcome of the battle, about Isildur in particular.

Elrond still mourned over his friend, a father to him when he had none…His suspicions had been right…More right than Elrond ever wanted to acknowledge out loud.

But he would still hate the child. Give it away to some mortals somewhere…He didn't care. He wanted nothing more than to be rid of it!

There had been more than one time that he considered ending its life before it had been born…Even ending his own, in his darkest thoughts.

But he was a coward in those thoughts, as well. He would never be able to steady his hand as he did it…

Shame and guilt fueled them but his cowardice froze them before they could reach fulfillment.

It was near the end of these private moments when he saw a glimmer of silver and gold out of the corner of his eye.

Celebrain – eldest daughter of Galadriel and Celeborn.

Her beauty and gentle smile came from her mother; her glee in practical jokes came from the lesser-known side of her respectable father.

Elrond knew Galadriel had sent her here on purpose…and with a purpose.

The young Elvish woman had been nothing but helpful and comforting to Elrond – more than wiling to listen to him babble on about nothing of any importance and understanding of his moods.

He had confronted her one day – did she know? She had confirmed his assumptions. Her mother had known and told her. Elrond ordered her to leave, not wanting her pity, but she defiantly refused, "_The only one feeling pity for you is your own discontented self_."

Shocked and outraged by her boldness at first, but later grew to be grateful for it.

For her.

Giving him wordless comfort by her mere presence…Far more gentle than Isildur ever was…

He may have been growing to love Celebrain but still felt contempt for the half-breed growing inside of him.

He had been half-Elven too, but at least he was the result of a loving union.

He hated it…whatever it was…Almost wishing the hatred he bore would poison it; then he would be rid of any reminder of what he had let Isildur do to him…

* * *

_T.A. 1_

During the First and Second Ages of the World there were a few male Elves that were given the ability to bear children – how this came about is not remembered, but the "why" is more commonly known: in order to ensure the survival of the Elven races against Melkor's constant onslaught and abuse, all kinds of methods of reproduction were encouraged.

The birth was an operation where the baby was cut out of the male and the opening healed to but a small white scar by an Elven Healer of great skill.

It was finally Elrond's turn to experience this, Celebrain at his side while Glorfindel remained close by if he was needed.

Glofindel had been a constant companion to Elrond ever since he founded Imladris – he was one of the few the Elf Lord knew he could depend on.

Celebrain had earned the same amount of trust; he would even venture to say that he loved her…In her eyes he could see it was returned…

The pain shot through him like knives of fire, attacking every nerve, carving through the flesh but he refused to cry out. Wouldn't give Isildur, wherever he was, the satisfaction of making him admit to the pain.

When the baby was out and he was being closed up, Elrond realized the baby wasn't crying…No sound was coming from it…

He sat up, against the Healer's and Celebrain's exclamations, watching the other Healer try to tend to it – with no luck.

It was a boy, dark tuft of hair on its soft head…His small, velvet-soft body was still – newly cleaned from the birthing.

Elrond's heart constricted – he felt a weight on it heavier than the day Isildur betrayed him.

No…no – how could he hate that tiny, helpless thing? It can't be dead…

Elrond ordered the baby to him – he needed to hold it, try to save it…His resolve to hate the child shattered when the babe lay limp in his arms.

Tears, unbidden, sprung to his eyes. He fought against them. This child – his child – was innocent of the deeds his father had committed. He did not deserve such hate…

He laid his ring hand on the babe's chest, praying to the Valar to spare him.

How could he have hated his own babe?

Let him live…Let him redeem Men when his father shamed them.

Vilya glowed. Let him live. Give him his chance.

A tiny, but strong intake of breath made the babe's chest suddenly rise – his lungs now unclogged with fluid.

Wide, grey eyes opened to the world. Looking at Elrond with a wonder only purity can give so effortlessly. A spark of light glowing from them, a light Isildur once had before the Ring took him…

Eyes greyer than the Havens…

A small hand touched his larger one, still on the tiny baby's chest.

The rest of the world became shrouded in mist as the Elf lord finally allowed his tears to fall. His heart swelled so much that he thought it would surely burst.

The love for a child…Was this what Gil-galad felt for him when he called Elrond "_tithen pen_"? When Elendil had continuously cut down Orcs, going after Isildur's turned back?

He kissed the child's face. The half-Elven babe gave his Ada a wide smile.

He was named Estel. He was the secret "hope" for the race of Men.

* * *

_T.A. 2_

The Ring was lost.

After the slaying of Isildur and his three eldest sons the One escaped and was lost…

Elrond met the news with a bitter resentment and cold indifference – he had already mourned the loss of Isildur while he was still alive…knowing that he wasn't the same mortal he had fallen in love with…

The news of the Ring was a mixed blessing – it wasn't in anyone's hands, and yet could be picked up by anyone if found.

But Elrond dismissed it – for now.

Until any news of it reached the Elves there was really nothing they could do…

It had hidden itself somewhere and was biding its time.

But his little Estel still managed to make him smile despite this news. It was undeniable that Elrond loved the babe dearly.

Celebrain, having a bond with the child, helped – it only made him feel even more love for her when she accepted Estel so readily.

Galadriel had visited not long after the news of Isildur and the Ring had reached him. She had talked to Elrond about the babe – he was Isildur's true heir.

She told him to keep this information as secret as possible – not even the child was to know.

While his Elvish name was "Estel," his name to the race of Men would be "Aragorn." His name as King: "Elessar."

Elrond could already feel the desire to never let the babe in his arms go, especially into mortal danger, which the child would be susceptible to. Even if he knew in his heart he had to let him.

But Galadriel smiled at him, the gentle smiles he had come to know through Celebrain, "_You will know when the time is right to tell him the truth of his heritage. The time to let him become whom he was born to be._"

He was their hope.

One kind of hope….

_

* * *

__T.A. 2942_

Gandalf the Grey knew the ring that Bilbo Baggins had found was the One. That wretched creature, Gollum, had kept it all to himself for over 500 years in the Misty Mountains. But he knew it was the Ring…

Just as he knew Sauron, who had slowly crept back into the world hundreds of years ago, was back in Mordor. He had moved in secret.

After his "little" adventure with the Hobbit and Dwarves, Gandalf had hoped that it showed Sauron that the world had grown stronger during his absence.

The Wizard knew that he was too weak to invoke any real fear or concern…

Or so he thought, despite the instinct reaction to start moving – as an Istari he knew it was his responsibility to this land and people to protect them.

But the little Hobbit he rode next to knew nothing of this, and Gandalf hoped he never would.

Even though the heavy weight in the pit of his stomach said otherwise.

**End of Prologue**

* * *

Elvish words/phrases:  
"_mellon nin_" – my friend  
"_tithen pen_" – little one  
"_Ada_" – dad, father, daddy


End file.
